


closing your curtains at night

by ferrassie



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferrassie/pseuds/ferrassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard’s name tops his never-ending reel of texts. <i>You should call me. Now, preferably</i>. Cesc smiles at it. Stuck above a trivial, panicked message from Carlota about hair straighteners and idiot brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	closing your curtains at night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



It’s raining when Cesc wakes up. It’s always raining in London. Couldn’t stand it at first, but it’s a part of home, now. The difference between when and where, past and present. Drags his sheets all the way down the stairs; ones that he’s tucked around himself. Cold feet. The TV is loud and blue and splashed with _Sky Sports_ when he turns it on. Lays down. He definitely might already be falling back asleep. John Terry’s on-screen with his voice that Cesc doesn’t particularly like, anyways.

He feels something vibrate under his shoulderblade. Twist and turn. It’s after twelve, his phone tells him. Gerard’s name tops his never-ending reel of texts. _You should call me. Now, preferably_. Cesc smiles at it. Stuck above a trivial, panicked message from Carlota about hair straighteners and idiot brothers. He punches in Gerard’s number, shaking his head. Stretches his arm behind his head.

Cesc hears a muffled noise first. Clothing and shuffling. His, “Hello?” is left there. And, then: “He didn’t want to pay the long-distance!” in an embarrassed whisper that’s just close enough to be distinct. Leo? Cesc waits. Momentarily. “For God’s sake, Piqué, talk to me!” But, he’s laughing. They are, too. There’s a _sorry_ from Leo, obviously. Gerard’s probably just shrugging his shoulders.

“Hey, you know that’s not true, right?” Gerard asks, but it doesn’t really matter. He knows it, too. “But, anyways. How’s the grand country of England today?” Cesc doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but there might have been a _don’t be patronising_ whispered, too.

Cesc makes a face. “It’s fine. Perfect, even. It’s raining. How’s Spain? Fair, calm, sunny?” He can picture it. “People going to the beach and footballers actually using their phones to _talk_ to people for once?”

Gerard laughs. “Exactly. No, but honestly, Messi here missed you.” Resonating sound of a hand-slap. “You know how he gets when he hasn’t seen your beautiful face for a while… hey, hey!” This little piece of want flares up inside his chest. “Of course I miss him! He’s not here!” and Cesc has a feeling Gerard didn’t mean to say that into the phone. Even that flippantly. He bites his lip.

So, he says it. “I miss you, too, jerk.” There’s quiet, just breathing on the other end because that had a little too much conviction behind it whether Cesc wants to admit to that or not.

Tell-tale shifting and a, “You don’t have to leave the room, Leo. Seriously,” and a door closing. Hinged click. Cesc may be trying too hard to hear everything. Gerard clears his throat. “So, we’re being serious, now?” A pause. “Okay: London is too far away.”

Cesc sighs. “So is Barcelona.”

 

Leo blinks at him. Fingers tight around the controller. Wrists resting on his crossed knees. He doesn’t say anything. “What?” Gerard asks, eyes stuck to the movement on-screen. When Leo doesn’t respond, Gerard lets it go. Changes the subject. They’re guys. Friends. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could both play as Barça? That’d be epic, right?”

Leo’s answer doesn’t fit. “How are things? Between you and Cesc, I mean,” he says, stumbling over his words. Blush across the bridge of his nose. Thumbs flicking at the joysticks. “You guys doing all right?” Players move. There’s a cross. A corner. Crowd screaming. Gerard slumps back against the couch.

“We’re good.” He scratches at the side of his neck. “Why?” Sound of buttons being pushed. Gerard crosses his legs up underneath himself. Just like Leo. Doesn’t look, though. Eyes tracking the way Xavi moves across the pitch, instead.

Leo shrugs. “No reason. Weren’t on the phone very long.” He starts to shift over farther, to the other side of the couch. Up against the arm. Feet inches away from Gerard’s thigh. He catches Leo around the wrist. Absently, without thinking. The ball goes out of play. Their fingers tangle together briefly. “What?”

“Don’t worry about us, all right?” And there’s nothing clipped or malicious or _stay out of it, Leo_ about it. Okay. That’s all okay. Balls of his feet pressed up against Gerard’s leg. That’s okay, too. Blue and red and green. A simulation of the Emirates in front of them.

 

-

 

“Well, that’s just…”

Cesc doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Gerard’s got him up against the wall. Feet pushed through pairs of shoes and a training jacket and shorts. Always a mess. He spreads his legs a little wider. Gerard’s knee between his thighs. Whatever, it’s not all that important. He’ll tell him later. He sucks Gerard’s bottom lip into his mouth, biting. Gerard holds Cesc’s shoulders to the wall.

It’s fast, moving like this. Gerard lets go, but holds onto him by the arm. Just off the elbow. The black ink there. He leads Cesc through room after room, up the stairs. Bedroom. Pushes him down on the bed and crawls, carefully, over top of him. Looks down. Peers, really. Like this is critical. Maybe.

“Forgot what I looked like?” Cesc asks. Gerard crosses his eyes. Hands on him. It makes him laugh. His shoulder is briefly pinned to the bed. He hooks his heels around the back of Gerard’s legs. _Shut up_ , mumbled into his neck. He pulls at the hair at the base of Gerard’s neck. Just a small flex of fingers. His words turn into a quick nip below his collarbone. Cesc flinches and Gerard gives him his worst smile. “That’s it,” breathed out as he rolls Gerard onto his back, lightning-quick. Hands above his head. Cesc smiles down at him. A matching one. Knees gripping Gerard’s waist tight.

Gerard curls his wrists up. “What? What did I do?” Cesc sighs, but still drops a kiss to Gerard’s forehead. He wrinkles his nose. It doesn’t particularly matter. Everything, anything. Cesc kisses him full-on. Shifts his hips. He lets go of Gerard’s wrists and Gerard’s hands come down to rest on his back. Solid. Cesc pushes back into it.

He breaks the kiss, mouth sliding down to Gerard’s neck. “Well, for starters, you didn’t stay in England…” and that gets him a weak shove. All light and kidding. Pressed back together. “Hey, don’t make me mean that.” He slides his hands underneath Gerard’s shirt. Gerard raises his arms. Cesc spreads his fingers out against his torso when it’s off and on the floor.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Fàbregas.” Pulls at the hem of Cesc’s shirt and Cesc gets it off as his hands move to unzip Cesc’s jeans. Hand between denim and cotton. Cesc lets out a breath. “Missed you,” said so quietly.

Cesc rolls his shoulders in. Caught breath. “Real romantic,” and Gerard gets his hand between cotton and skin, “Gerard.” He laughs. It’s been a while and Cesc is embarrassed to admit that, sure, but it’s been a while for Gerard, too. So, they’re even. Gerard slides his thumb over the head of Cesc’s cock and okay. No, they’re not. But, they don’t have to be. He bites the corner of his mouth and tries to push his jeans down. “Help me with this.” Gerard gives him a look. “Seriously. Stop what you’re doing. It’s fine.”

He does. Fingers flicking the button, the part they missed, on his jeans open. Holding onto the beltloops. “Cesc?” Gerard asks (definitely a question). He looks at his hands, where they are, before looking up at Cesc. Face soft. “Hey.”

Cesc runs his nails up his forearms. “Hey.”

 

“You ever, I don’t know,” Gerard says as he settles his legs up to sit cross-legged. Twined up. Cereal bowl in hand. Cesc pinches the spout of the milk carton open. Through something suspiciously bran-tasting: “You ever think about us back at home? Or him?” Another spoonful. Cesc walks over from the kitchen. Sweatpants low.

He falls down beside Gerard. “You and Leo?” Metallic sound of spoons against ceramic. He leans his head against Gerard’s shoulder. Feels his jaw moving. “In what way?” Cinnamon and apple.

Gerard turns the volume on the TV up. Some bad English soap opera. “I don’t know. Any way.”

“Yeah,” Cesc says, bowl cold against his chest. Sweating. Gerard leans forward, dislodging him, and puts his own bowl on the coffee table. Cheeks pink. “Yeah.”

 

-

 

Gerard goes through his suitcase, head down. Confused. He looks up at Leo, still tabulating. “I think I’ve got everything, yeah?” It’s layer after layer of clothes packed into a small space. Gerard zips it shut. “Not like I can’t borrow from Cesc.” Leo shrugs, nods along. Drops the shirt bundled up in his hands onto the bed. Ends up beside a crumpled pair of jeans and a sweater. He can’t fit into Cesc’s clothing.

“Don’t pack last minute, then,” Leo says, following Gerard out of the room. Gerard reaches back, trying to find him. He doesn’t. Leo side-steps him and pushes him away. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.” He corrects himself: “You’re going to be late.” Pinches the skin between his thumb and index distractedly. Looks away.

Gerard just ruffles his hair. The alarm system counts down slowly as they leave.

 

It’s crowded and busy. Weaves and weaves of people at the desk, stuck waiting in line-ups. All that sort of thing. Gerard keeps his sunglasses on. Leo pulls up the collar of his shirt. They rush. It’s not perfect. This is Barcelona, so it can’t be. Leo circles around as Gerard checks in. He keeps away from anyone who looks like they’ve recognised him, turning and cutting through more people. He glimpses Gerard through shoulders and arms. He goes towards him.

“I’m all good,” Gerard says, close to his ear, waving his ticket. “I’ll be out of here in like, two hours.” Their hands brush each other’s as they walk. Gerard’s carry-on slung over his back. “Security’ll probably take that long.”

Leo laughs. Nods his head. “Then we better get you there.”

When Gerard goes left, Leo’s in step.

 

Caught off-guard. Gerard pulls him down a thin, secluded hallway. It’s quiet without all the people. Dark. Leading up to restrooms and an abandoned in-construction area. He kisses Leo fleetingly on the corner of his mouth. Fingers brushing over the fine ends of his hair.

Gerard smiles down at his upturned face. Shrugging his shoulders. “Because you never know.” He squeezes Leo’s hand. “Thanks.” Gerard slides out of the hallway. Fingers trailing across his chest. Leo brushes his temple with the back of his hand.

 

“So, you’re finally free of Piqué,” Xavi says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good for you!” Standing in line at a coffee shop downtown. Andrés out finding a table. It’s hot and loud. Xavi doesn’t seem to care. Tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Sunglasses settled on the bridge of his nose. “Only took you, what, most of the break?” He smiles to himself.

Leo ducks his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The smell of coffee and tea. Xavi turns his amused smile on Leo, saying nothing. He doesn’t necessarily like the quirk of Xavi’s lips, but he ignores it. “He went to see Cesc. In London.”

Xavi makes a noise. “I know where Cesc lives, kid,” but there’s no edge. His hand brushes against Leo’s back as he steps in front of him, up to the till. He rattles off a drink order that consists of a long-winded, caffeine-based something and a plain black coffee. Leo raises his eyebrows. He knows which one is for Xavi.

Xavi taps his nose. “Hey, I know what Andrés likes.”

 

Cesc can’t stop touching him. Fingers sliding across the curve of Gerard’s hip. His ribs. He kisses his jaw. Sweaty and exhausted. “So,” Cesc starts, “it’s nice to have you here.” Gerard digs his nails into Cesc’s side, making him squirm when he finds that certain spot. “Fine, fine! I missed you every second you were gone!” He kicks out his foot. Sheets stuck and wrapped around the rise of Cesc’s stomach and Gerard’s thighs. There are pink marks where Cesc kicked him. Fingers trailing over heel-prints. Cesc grins. Fades into a silence that starts to build.

Broken by: “You mean that, though, right?” Gerard asks. He’s not looking at him. Cesc’s eyebrows knit together. Mouth tightening up. “The ‘missing me’ part,” Gerard adds, as if Cesc really needed the clarification. His fingertips at the base of Cesc’s neck. He leans back into it. He can feel the slow beat of Gerard’s pulse.

Cesc turns into him. Legs tangling up together. He lets out a sigh. “Of course.” And they’re silent again. Cesc tightens his hand on Gerard’s ribs. He closes his eyes. He repeats himself. “Of course I miss you. I miss Leo, too. I love Barça, but I love London.” He shrugs. “Whatever, though.” Cesc kisses Gerard’s cheek. “That’s how it is.”

He nods slowly. “I kissed him, you know. Before I got on the plane. Before I came to see you.” He scratches at his stubble. Cesc holds on. Tucked completely against him. He isn’t even surprised. The soft slide of Gerard’s lips against Leo’s when he closes his eyes.

“What was that like?” Cesc drags the flats of his fingers across the spaces between bone. Watches himself do it.

“Familiar. Really familiar. Like you,” Gerard whispers, mouth pressed to Cesc’s temple. A little smile. A laugh that’s not loud enough. Not for Gerard, anyways.

Cesc laughs, too. “That’s what I’ve always thought.” He breathes out. “Only it’d be more like you.”

 

It is. It’s exactly like that. Cesc pushes his palms against Leo’s shoulders. Gerard’s playing idly with the hair behind Leo’s ear and muttering nonsense about it, about all of them. Cesc pinches any skin he can find. Gerard’s knee comes up against his side, Leo’s side. Reflex. Flicks Cesc’s temple as he’s lowering his mouth to Leo’s. Leo arches his back.

Gerard’s thighs frame Leo’s hips. Warm and soft; his hand runs up under the back of Cesc’s shirt. Over his spine. He licks at the seam of Leo’s lips, opening up for him. Cesc can’t stop himself from digging his nails into his shoulder. Gerard’s other hand curls around his wrist (Leo’s hands trapped uselessly at his sides, in the sheets) and loosens his grip. Leo breathes out softly against Cesc.

He can feel Gerard’s hair brush against his cheek. Leo twists up. He breaks the kiss to find Gerard nipping down Leo’s neck. Cesc runs his fingers through Gerard’s hair and lifts his mouth to his. He hears, “Oh god,” whispered between them and Gerard grins against his mouth. Lazily break apart to look down at Leo.

“You let a lot of not-football things freak you out, Messi,” Gerard says, laughing. Earns the half-hearted flat of Leo’s fist into his hip. “Not a big deal, though. I know I still like you.” Cesc bites at Leo’s stomach, where his shirt has ridden up. Leo makes a high noise in the back of his throat. “Him, too.”

Cesc looks up. Smiles. Their fingers tangle into his hair. Gerard guiding. Leo’s hand a fraction smaller. Cesc’s mouth level with the waistband of Leo’s jeans. Pressure against the back of his skull. Cesc can’t tell whose fingertips are running softly over the crown of his scalp, the edge of his hairline. He pushes back into it as he slides his fingers into Leo’s pockets.

They’ve never been that rough with one another.

 

-

 

“So, what are you wearing, now?”

Leo punches him in the shoulder, but Gerard doesn’t let up. “Black Armanis. Right?” Leo gets a hand between Gerard’s ear and his phone. “I know you, Fàbregas!” Gets Leo’s elbow, sharp, just below the ribcage. Pinches behind Gerard’s knee. The phone falls into his reach. Leo moves out of Gerard’s grasp, already making for his beltloops.

“Ignore him. Please.” Cesc coughs out a laugh. Sounds like half-asleep or waking up. One or the other. Side-steps another rogue arm. “Really. We had an objective. Uh, you have time coming up, right?” Leos scratches at the place where his collarbone dips. Hands slick. Gerard watches, head tipped back against the couch. He widens his eyes at Leo. Gets a flick to his ear.

Cesc makes a non-committal noise. Leo bites the inside of his cheek. Makes a clicking sound with his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. He hears Cesc shift. “Yeah,” he says, voice warm. Gerard wraps his fingers (long, long, long) around his arm. “I think there’ll be some time. At worst, just a day or two.” Gerard tips his head, pulling Leo up against the back of the couch.

He gets distracted by Gerard mouthing, “So?”

“No, that’s. Yeah.” And Cesc laughs again. Gerard pulls him over the back of the couch in one quick move. His head in Gerard’s lap. A stupid smile on his mouth. Phone already in hand. “Wait, what…”

“Taking too long,” Gerard says. Leo’s left there looking up at him as he yells some too-quick stream of Catalan into the receiver. Fingers in his hair. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Sentimental bastard.”

Leo knows exactly what he’s going to say.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i subscribe to the popular theory that cesc fàbregas is ticklish. mhmm.  
> 2\. i'm also very, very aware that if leo and gerard stepped foot inside the barcelona airport together, that they'd have to work miles harder at being inconspicuous. however, security tangles and screaming fans didn't suit my purposes. so, a little magic was involved there.  
> 3\. i hope that this lived up to your request and that you enjoyed the story (even if it did end up a little more sentimental than fluffy). happy yuletide!


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